


Stronger

by KeelahNewVegas



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Gen, Paragade Shepard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-03
Updated: 2013-10-03
Packaged: 2017-12-28 07:44:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/989506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KeelahNewVegas/pseuds/KeelahNewVegas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reflecting on the past through the present, how history repeats and distorts itself. Non-linear timeline.</p><p>(Changes of tense are used to differentiate the reflection from the reflected)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stronger

As she remembers her life, things that seemed true, words that poured out of her mouth with a basis of “close enough” seem like horrible, bitter-tasting lies. Even small ones, ones she told as a child, seem to coat her in a thick film of guilt. Commander Shepard landed on Thessia, and a failure returned to the Normandy. “Commander” Shepard feels like a lie.

Liara couldn’t help it, but she just made the guilt thicker, grimier, harder to scrub off. Seeing Liara crying had reminded Shepard of how  sheltered —no,  _normal_ — Liara had been compared to the rest of them. Tali had been running and gunning on the Citadel, her father’s combat training evident. Garrus had military training, C-Sec training. Liara had skills, but she didn’t have Akuze. She didn’t lose grip on command and let Prazza kill her team on Freedom’s Progress. She didn’t have the strength Javik found in rage —although maybe he had helped her see something within herself. She didn’t lose her squad in a long, bloody, gruesome final battle on Omega. Even as she’d died, Benezia had been repentant and comforting. Now Shepard’s starting to feel like she kidnapped a scientist on Therum and coerced her to join…whatever she’d made now. Garrus had the Miracle at Palaven. Tali had her homeworld back, Wrex had the _spirit_ of his species uplifted and a thousand years of oppression over. Liara had… a spy network to manage.

"Did you collect stray cats as a kid?" Joker had said, and now she felt like she’d had all the tactical prowess of a lonely old woman in an alley, reaching beyond her means, beyond what she  _deserved_  for friendship.

Chief Engineer Hanlon had served on the Kyoto, the ship she’d been on with her mother when she was nine years old. She’d had a soft spot for children, and Shepard would sit in the cafeteria and listen to her tell all about mass effect fields and how they worked, how the drive core worked, and she’d nod her head, even when she didn’t understand. She always saved extras of her favorite foods, and told her silly jokes and made a game of spooking Shepard while she read, which always lightened up the lonely mood for a child on a ship. The Kyoto was the first ship she’d been on with no other children since she was five, and the solitude was something she had looked forward to — as a child, Shepard had hated having to come up with another line of conversation, constantly talking, using rules she never quite understood. But now it was lonesome, the adults had no time for her, her father was rarely deployed on the same ship, and her mother, though always there before and after every shift, was on duty for a good chunk of the day.

Now, she thinks back on this time, and wonders if that failure to dance through a conversation had been what attracted these poor souls to her. She asked questions that lay right outside of those conversational conventions, she talked to receive and give information, and it was the information that made the relationship, instead of the flair for the spoken word. This “charismatic” bullshit was the product of conversational mistakes no one knew how to call her on.

One day, though, Shepard had made herself a little makeshift office out of boxes, with a glass of juice and a pile of datapads containing all different horror books. As she’d worked her way through the first few chapters, her eyes were glued to the screen — the main character was trapped on a ship with a hostile alien, wondering through the corridors looking for her cat. The alien was gaining on her position fast, and she was cornered, now, trying to find some way to an escape shuttle, any way at all, when—

"BOO!"

Shepard’s half empty glass of juice had flown off of her box-desk and shattered, orange liquid reminding her of a painting of a Krogan she’d seen in someone’s office that she didn’t understand. Her hand hadn’t been anywhere near the glass. Shepard felt fuzzy headed, and Hanlon’s face looked grim for a minute, like she’d over-done the joke. Shepard knew what that felt like —the embarrassment of failing to come up with something new, and she knew adults must feel that way too— so she began to laugh, and Hanlon did, too, although it was hollow. As Shepard gushed about her new favorite book, Hanlon alternated between looking something up on her omni-tool and adding quick commentary to fill a silence she seemed to dread. Maybe to drown out a question she didn’t want to answer yet. Shepard read “ _BAaT Concerns and Criticism_ " backwards through the screen on Hanlon’s omni-tool, before it was quickly powered down and a hand placed on her shoulder.

"Listen, sometimes, people can do things we don’t fully understand, and it makes people who can’t afraid. Has Hannah— has your mom ever told you about…about people who can move things with their minds, like we move the ship with the core? Biotics?"

"Yeah, mama says they go get trained, and the Alliance is…is…stockpiling them," she replied, and there was more to what her   
mother had said, but she hadn’t been addressing her and so she hadn’t been listening.

"Some of those camps are pretty scary, honey, and they don’t give kids the chance to be kids—"

"I’m not a kid," she protested.

Hanlon thought a moment, then rephrased: “Honey, you wouldn’t see me or your mother or your father or those datapads for a long time. That wouldn’t be any good, would it?”

"N…no."

"We’ll keep this between us, okay? It’s very important to keep this between us." Hanlon’s eyes were pleading, unsure. Shepard had never seen an adult like this. But, she nodded, not understanding again, and the day settled back into normalcy.

She thinks, now, while she’s locked in her cabin hoping the shower never, ever runs out of hot water, that’s when she began to   
lie.

Years later, in basic training, she’d been sparring with a particularly capable woman, Uschi, native to Germany, who was her first dead-heat match in hand to hand. Maybe she’d been a little distracted, too. Uschi was a tall, brown-eyed blonde, who spoke in a thick accent and could handle a sniper rifle like it was an extension of her very being. Every punch she threw was blocked, every step and shuffle countered. She’d let her right guard down and she knew, _knew_ the punch was coming right at her. It was just sparring, it wasn’t going to hurt, but her competitive spirit got the best of her, and she felt the strongest urge to just put up some kind of wall, shields, *something*. Shepard scrunched her eyes and braced for impact, only to feel that familiar fuzzy feeling, and Uschi’s fist landing on a glowing blue aurora spiking up from Shepard’s forearm. Uschi blinked for a moment, before Shepard’s drill instructor had taken her by the arm and led her out of the ring, leaving her fumbling over the ropes.

"Recruit, how long have you manifested biotic talent?"

"Sir, today is the first day, sir," her guts twisted, because she knew he would see right through it. 

"Come with me," he had already started walking, and she had to jog to catch up.

Had it been a lie? Is breaking glasses of juice a “talent” like bringing up a barrier is? Now, deceit about being able to do something had snuck right up behind her to make a mockery in her face. When she’d signed up, she filled out her aptitude test to specialize in combat training alone. Nothing fancy, she’d smiled at her recruiter. After she manifested, the Alliance treated her like a highly prized weapon of mass destruction. They threw around phrases like “destructive affinity” and “biotic shock troop potential.” Now she had assured Tevos she’d bring her best to Thessia, and her best was far from good enough. Her best was a lie.

When she was eleven, she’d been looking forward to September the fourth all year. Her father was coming off of a long, hard tour of duty on the very edge of the frontier, and she hadn’t seen him since the last year. Shepard sat in the central docking station for the Sol system, legs still dangling from the chair at her age (which had disappointed her very much. She’d wanted to be tall like her father), trying to contain herself in the presence of what seemed to be a very serious affair going on in the lobby. She was looking forward to telling him all about the things she’d done, how they’d docked in Houston for a week and she’d had a real cheeseburger and cheeseburgers had become her favorite food, how she’d gone out on her own and bought him an Alliance coffee mug with her allowance chits she’d saved.

The door her mother had disappeared in slid open and Shepard had jumped up out of the hard seat, smile wide and eyes bright, until she saw her mother alone, standing to the side like someone was supposed to be with her. Someone  _was_ supposed to be with her. It must have been what people meant by a marked absence. Her mother’s face was something she’d seen before but couldn’t decipher at the time, not really. Later she’d know it well: thick, unadulterated grief with military bravado wound around it and cinched tightly. Her mother’s jaw was impossibly firm, her breathing measured and steady, her eyes set straight forward as she knelt down to tell Shepard that her dad wasn’t coming home, ever. Shepard had understood death at that age, but the information that it had happened to  _her father_  was alien,  incomprehensible. She wasn’t hiding any sorrow, it had just seemed…impossible. She didn’t cry, not in the docking tube, not in the cafeteria, not when Hanlon had asked her  _"how are you, really?"_ , not until a week later when she tripped and broke the mug, and she realized that it was all real. He wasn’t MIA, he was KIA, and he was never, ever going to tell him another thing. Shepard had cried alone, for an hour, in an unused conference room, and it was the only time she would cry about him in her life. She had walked out to face the ship’s captain, a woman who at that time had seemed older than anyone, with a drawn face and kind eyes, the kind that made little triangles when she smiled.

"Are you okay?" the captain had asked, bending down towards her.

"Yes ma’am. I’m doing very well, ma’am, thank you," she had lied, doing the best impression of her mother she could.

"Very well then, child. Carry on," the captain squeezed her shoulder and passed by her.

Shepard reflects on the little girl in the chair with her mug and her datapads, the little girl coming out of the office to lie to the ship’s captain. She reflects on how many times that girl would grow up to wear that face. Counting between breaths to choke back sobs, clenching her jaw to keep from taking that big, suffocating breath of air. Unfocussing her eyes to keep from living in that awful moment. The Alliance had helped. Compartmentalize, disassociate, get the job done. A turian is bleeding out, with third degree burns to his face; apply medigel, call for back-up. He isn’t your friend, he isn’t Garrus, he isn’t dying. There’s a Cerberus mech smashing your squadmate’s face in, apply bullets to mech, apply medigel to squadmate, omni-gel helmet-breech, return to Normandy. There is no robotic bitch driven by your under-duress de-facto ex-boss smashing your friend to pieces while you’re desperately searching for something to stop the nightmares from dark space.

The water is still hot, her skin is scalded, and her hair is hanging in thick, burning ribbons burning against her eyelids, but she’s not getting  out any time soon. Her mind flashes to her next lie. A big one, maybe the first one she ever got called on.

Ivanov had said Akuze reminded him of old war vids from the 21st century. It was hot, dry, and ultimately miserable. She’d wondered what kind of brochure could ever be cooked up to sell this place to colonists. A sandstorm raged outside as they made camp inside the abandoned settlement. Garcia said it looked like Batarian slavers — the destruction and complete disregard for order was a tell-tale sign of the panicked last ditch efforts of civillians trying to stage war. Shepard wasn’t sure about any of it. There were no bodies, just acid leaving dull, ragged-edged burns all over the outer metal walls. Garcia said they probably used chemical weapons, but it still didn’t explain why slavers would take back bodies. Adebayo leaned back in a chair she’d found knocked into a wall so hard the legs had made dents. Scare tactics… or experimentation, she theorized.

"If it’s scare tactics, it’s fucking working," Johannson muttered, lighting his cigarette, "because this is fucking creepy."

Toombs had finished the generator just in time - it was starting to darken down outside, and the sandstorm wasn’t even a quarter  finished. The fifty of them had fortified a church in the center of the settlement. It seemed like such a good idea at the time, to use the West landing pad and work their way East, then fan the rest of the way out. Maps had said the church on would be fairly easily defensible.

Garcia sent three teams of ten soldiers North, South, and farther East at 0900. The remnants had set up three sniping nests in the bell towers, biotic flanking areas at either sides of the entrance, and repurposed pews as bunks. By 1300, she was feeling fairly proud of herself, and Garcia, grump that he was, seemed to be feeling proud of them all. Any pirates or raiders or other unfortunate sociopaths would have their asses promptly handed to them courtesy of the Alliance military. They were all N5 and above, and it was evident that they’d earned it. The recon teams would be back by 1500. The lack of information aside, they were on their way to success.

They heard a rumble outside, and Adebayo furrowed her eyebrows. “A thunderstorm too? God must hate this damn planet.”

Only on the second rumble, loud and close, did they realize the disturbance was coming from below the ground.

“‘Ey, Ivanov, I never heard anything about quakes on Akuze. Get on your damn omni-fuck and look it up,” Garcia called.

Shepard decided to save the “omni-fuck” epithet in her repertoire for later. Garcia had no patience for the things. He had talked about his contempt for them at length, and Shepard had chimed in to support him — it wasn’t that she hated them, really, it was just that for all the great things they did, the mysterious bugs and cooldown times taxed her patience. Garcia had refused to learn how to use one beyond simple tasks, preferring his guns exclusively. She favored her biotics —she could feel her power sputter, she could see her mnemonics done wrong, and the only back-up she needed was her shotgun. Ivanov had snorted at them both. “One of these days,” he’d said, “you’re gonna need that target-assist recalibrated, and don’t you come crying to me.”

He grunted, but pulled up the interface and tapped a few strings. “Nope, not seeing anything about quakes here…let me look up   
some possible causes…”

"What if they’re delayed detonation mines?" Adebayo hunched forward and lit a cigarette, her eyes wide and burning a hole in the cracked tile.

"What if those damn robots from the Perseus Veil pop into Alliance space and make us all into human batteries?" Yang chided   
from across the room, trying to restore a water supply. 

A subtle sound,  _was that—?_ maybe a support strut protesting against the wind. _No._ Something was wrong. Very wrong.Her stomach settled in a cold, familiar way. The recon teams weren’t coming back.  _"No, that’s stupid. They’re fine. They’re capable. They’re marines."_

The next sound is always ringing inside her brain somewhere during combat. It was there during Eden Prime, Virmire, Horizon, the Collector Base, Mars…all of them, somewhere, when her barrier was down, when she’d lost communication with Cortez, she’d heard that sound in her head. It’s the most unholy scream in the galaxy, accompanied by the ground rumbling so hard all twenty marines were knocked off of their feet. Out of one of the small windows, they saw some towering…thing, its body shrouded in the sandstorm, rocking side to side before going still and then rippling, spitting acid that burned through one of the few remaining windows of the church, and before their eyes, Ivanov, who’d been sitting under the window, began to scream. Between the time Shepard closed her eyes and opened them again, his scalp had split open. His shields had been down. All their shields were down.

"We’re fucked," breathed Adebayo.

Shepard was halfway across the floor to him before his entire face followed suite, and the screaming stopped.

Her ears began to ring, edges of her vision blurring. She was no stranger to death on a battlefield, but she was definitely a stranger to bubbling skin, to a squadmate’s voice less than a wet gargle from behind a thick curtain of liquid matter than used to make up a person.

"We have to fall back! We have to get to the shuttle! C’mon, Shepard, let’s go!" Garcia barked, and she felt her insides grow cold.

No time for perception. No time, no time,  _no time_. She was mechanical, running out the door with the rest of her squad. The snipers hadn’t made it down, she knew this because as the thing popped up from out of the ground again, it apparently hit a support strut and the building had come crashing down, a sick little imitation of her makeshift reading fort falling apart. Running from cover to cover from the looming shadow, just out of range for her shotgun, she felt like less than a child. Children don’t know when they’re powerless like this.

Sand burned her lungs, made all the worse by the giant, panicked breaths she was taking.  _"You won’t need a breather helmet,"_  they said,  _"just impact dampening. Akuze is semi-hospitable,"_  they said.

A scream, and Garcia’s voice was gone. She didn’t look back. She stopped to pick up another soldier—what was her name? Shepard wasn’t even sure she’d seen her face— before she was bolting again. Their numbers were dwindling, but she wasn’t counting. No counting, no thinking, just running. Definitely not hearing someone’s defiant last scream, the disgusting hiss of acid on skin barely audible above the winds.

Eventually she heard just one set of footsteps behind her.

The thing, whatever it was, erupted from the ground in front of the two of them. She was fairly sure she wasn’t with the woman she’d picked up earlier; her peripheral vision rendered a male silhouette.

_This is it, this is the end. Fuck._

"Fuck!" the voice was male, maybe it was— no time to think, the thing was already rippling, and calculating a way around it in the narrow street was taking too long. As the acid spewed out of its mouth, Shepard figured she’d face "death with dignity," whatever the fuck that meant, and started the mnemonic to throw.  _What the fuck am I throwing?_  Hopefully that goddamn demon’s spit right back at it. She flung it and dodged aside, hoping the mass was dense enough to at least knock it off course. The acid was apparently viscous enough to wrap around the ball of dark matter, and she started running again.

Where was the man? No time.  _Run, Shepard. Run._

She made it to the landing pad and almost ripped the shuttle door off trying to remember how the locks and hinges worked. She paused, looking for survivors, someone who was behind her, someone who’d made it, maybe a scout—and then that scream rang out again and she shut the door. Had there been a shadow?  _No time_ , she had to go, and she was mashing whatever aerogel buttons seemed to make sense from the basic shuttle training she’d received. She felt the oppressive gravity of Akuze tear away, only to resettle as the artificial gravity kicked in and the VI sprung to life.

"Where is the nearest docking station?"

"No known docking stations within fuel-radius."

"Where is the nearest fucking  _anything?_ ”

"Inquiry not recognized."

She screamed, ripping off her helmet and throwing it at the hologram.

"Inquiry not recognized."

She was shaking, half in fear and half in rage, trying to come up with a  _recognized inquiry_  and a reason not to shoot the VI console until her Katana overheated and burned a  _real_  hole in her hand to bring her back to reality. A few minutes ago, she was running from a monster as tall as a building that spat acid, just to get on a shuttle and argue with a computer.

_This is the future? Goddamn._

"S-s…f-are there…are there any ships within hailing range?"

"Sensors indicate a frieghter within range."

"Hail them. Flag emergency." She realized she hadn’t actually  _breathed_  since she got on the shuttle, and once she thought about it she couldn’t help but sit down on the floor and gasp. 

"Yes, Shepard."

Oh, and she had been a liar in the debriefing room. She had been trying to keep up with those terms,  _"potentially non-sentient hostile xeno-entity"_  and  _"destructive potential"_ and trying not to scream, trying to keep her face fixed and professional and not terrified.

"You’re  _sure_  there were no other survivors?”

"Yes, sir. I’m sure," she had said, thoughts flashing to the shadows, the voices, the man. " _If anyone were there at the landing pad, they’re dead now,_ " Shepard reasoned, and she’d reasoned wrong. Toombs was left behind.  _She_  left Toombs behind. She left Thessia behind, she let the Catalyst be taken.

"I was supposed to be the hero… and I’m sorry," she breathed, and no one was there to hear her tell the truth.


End file.
